He would have mark'd her shuddering frame, When from the field of blood he came,

The faltering speech - the look estrang'dVoice, step, and life, and beauty chang'dHe would have mark'd all this, and known Such change is wrought by Love alone!

Ah! not the Love, that should have bless'd
So young, so innocent a breast;
Not the pure, open, prosperous Love,
That, pledg'd on earth and seal'd above,
Grows in the world's approving eyes,
In friendship's smile and home's caress,
Collecting all the heart's sweet ties
Into one knot of happiness!
No, HINDA, no,- thy fatal flame
Is nurs'd in silence, sorrow, shame ;-
A passion, without hope or pleasure,
In thy soul's darkness buried deep,

It lies, like some ill-gotten treasure,-
Some idol, without shrine or name,
O'er which its pale-ey'd votaries keep
Unholy watch, while others sleep.

Seven nights have darken'd OMAN's sea,
Since last, beneath the moonlight ray,
She saw his light oar rapidly

Hurry her Gheber's bark away,-
And still she goes, at midnight hour,
To weep alone in that high bower,
And watch, and look along the deep

For him whose smiles first made her weep ;-
But watching, weeping, all was vain,
She never saw his bark again.
The owlet's solitary cry,

The night-hawk, flitting darkly by,
And oft the hateful carrion bird,
Heavily flapping his clogg'd wing,

Which reek'd with that day's banqueting —
Was all she saw, was all she heard.
"Tis the eighth morn - AL HASSAN'S brow
Is brighten'd with unusual joy-
What mighty mischief glads him now,
Who never smiles but to destroy?
The sparkle upon HERKEND's Sea,
When toss'd at midnight furiously, 261
Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh,
More surely than that smiling eye!
"Up, daughter, up- the KERNA'S 262 breath
"Has blown a blast would waken death,
"And yet thou sleep'st-up, child, and see
"This blessed day for Heaven and me,
"A day more rich in Pagan blood
"Than ever flash'd o'er OMAN's flood.
"Before another dawn shall shine,
"His head-heart-limbs
"This very night his blood shall steep
"These hands all over here I sleep!"

will all be mine;

"His blood!" she faintly scream'd her mind Still singling one from all mankind

"Yes-spite of his ravines and towers, "HAFED, my child, this night is ours. "Thanks to all-conquering treachery, "Without whose aid the links accurst, "That bind these impious slaves, would be "Too strong for ALLA's self to burst! "That rebel fiend, whose blade has spread "My path with piles of Moslem dead, "Whose baffling spells had almost driven "Back from their course the Swords of Heaven, "This night, with all his band shall know "How deep an Arab's steel can go, "When God and Vengeance speed the blow. "And Prophet! by that holy wreath "Thou wor'st on ОHOD's field of death, 263

"I swear, for every sob that parts "In anguish from these heathen hearts, "A gem from PERSIA'S plunder'd mines "Shall glitter on thy Shrine of Shrines. "But, ha!-she sinks-that look so wild"Those livid lips-my child, my child, "This life of blood befits not thee, "And thou must back to ARABY. "Ne'er had I risk'd thy timid sex "In scenes that man himself might dread, "Had I not hop'd our every tread

"Would be on prostrate Persian necks"Curst race, they offer swords instead! "But cheer thee, maid,

the wind that now

"Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow,

"To-day shall waft thee from the shore ; "And, e'er a drop of this night's gore

"Have time to chill in yonder towers,

"Thou 'lt see thy own sweet Arab bowers!"

His bloody boast was all too true;
There lurk'd one wretch among the few
Whom HAFED's eagle eye could count
Around him on that Fiery Mount,-
One miscreant, who for gold betray'd
The pathway through the valley's shade
To those high towers, where Freedom stood
In her last hold of flame and blood.
Left on the field last dreadful night,
When, sallying from their Sacred height,
The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight,
He lay-but died not with the brave;
That sun, which should have gilt his grave,
Saw him a traitor and a slave ;-
And, while the few, who thence return'd
To their high rocky fortress, mourn'd
For him among the matchless dead

They left behind on glory's bed,

He liv'd, and, in the face of morn,
Laugh'd them and Faith and Heaven to scorn.

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave,

Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave,

And blasts them in their hour of might!
May Life's unblessed cup for him

Be drugg'd with treacheries to the brim,-
With hopes, that but allure to fly,

With joys, that vanish while he sips,
Like Dead-Sea fruits, that tempt the eye,
But turn to ashes on the lips! 264
His country's curse, his children's shame,
Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame,
May he, at last, with lips of flame
On the parch'd desert thirsting die,-
While lakes, that shone in mockery nigh, 265
Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted,
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted!
And, when from earth his spirit flies,
Just Prophet, let the damn'd-one dwell
Full in the sight of Paradise,

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell!

LALLA ROOKн had, the night before, been visited by a dream which, in spite of the impending fate of poor HAFED, made her heart more than usually cheerful during the morning, and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a flower that the Bid-musk had just passed over.266 She fancied that she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the sea-gipsies, who live for ever on the water 267, enjoy a perpetual summer in wandering from isle to isle, when she saw a small gilded bark approaching her. It was like one of those boats which the Maldivian islanders send adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odoriferous wood, as an offering to the Spirit whom they call King of the Sea. At first, this little bark appeared to be empty, but, on coming nearer

She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream to her Ladies, when FERAMORZ appeared at the door of the pavilion. In his presence, of course, every thing else was forgotten, and the continuance of the story was instantly requested by all. Fresh wood of aloes was set to burn in the cassolets;-the violet sherbets 268 were hastily handed round, and after a short prelude on his lute, in the pathetic measure of Nava 269, which is always used to express the lamentations of absent lovers, the Poet thus continued.